


One Large Pepperoni and Mushrooms, One Mountain Dew, One Ex-Girlfriend

by FreshBrains



Category: Faking It (TV 2014)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, F/F, Getting Back Together, Post-Break Up, Post-Season/Series 02A Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2693990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy planned on spending prom night on the couch, catching up on crime documentaries with a giant bowl of cheese popcorn and cuddling with her hippo Pillow Pet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Large Pepperoni and Mushrooms, One Mountain Dew, One Ex-Girlfriend

**Author's Note:**

> For the Small Fandom Fest 16 prompt: _Faking It, Amy/Reagan, prom._

Amy planned on spending prom night on the couch, catching up on crime documentaries with a giant bowl of cheese popcorn and cuddling with her hippo Pillow Pet.  Apparently, punching a cop on school grounds was frowned up in the eyes of the school administrators—even if the cop was a little snitch who toyed with a vulnerable stepsister’s emotions.  At least Penelope was persuasive enough to let Amy go with a week’s suspension at the beginning of spring semester and a prom ban. 

“You look like water trash,” Lauren said as she strode down the stairs in her floor-length prom dress, a black and red thing that was much more sexy and dangerous than Amy would’ve ever given Lauren credit for.  Lauren still wore pearls and blazers to school, but she was done with pink cupcake dresses.

“Thanks,” Amy said dryly, curling up deeper into the couch with her _Frozen_ fleece blanket.  Her Netflix queue was all revved up for the night— _Dear Zachary, The Central Park Five, The Imposter._ A solid showing.  “You look nice.  Don’t quote me on that later.”

“Oh, Amy,” Farrah said, smoothing back Amy’s greasy hair while keeping her eyes trained on Lauren.  “Be nice to your sister, she’s been looking forward to this for so long.  After all, she’s been crowned—“

“Prom queen,” Amy said, rolling her eyes.  Her Mountain Dew bottle was on the end table but she was too cozy to reach out and get it.  “Yeah, I know.”  Lauren was a shoo-in that year—after “coming out,” Amy and Karma were back on the bottom of the social heap.  Still best friends, but best at nothing else.

Lauren strode slowly down the stairs like a real princess, all poise and elegance, and Amy did have to smile a little.  Her relationship with Bruce had gotten a lot better since their argument about the pageants, and he looked exactly like a proud father should as he snapped picture after picture of Lauren on the stairs.

“Maybe next year,” Amy said, craning her neck to look up at her mother. 

Farrah smiled down at Amy, her eyes a little sad.  “I know, baby.  I just thought maybe with Reagan…” she waved her hands in the air, willing away tears.  “It doesn’t matter.  One daughter to go to prom, one to hold down the fort while we go on our date.” 

_Story of my life,_ Amy thought, and pulled her blanket over her head as Lauren’s date rang the doorbell.

*

After getting a text from her mom around eleven— _Don’t wait up, Bruce booked a room_ —Amy knew it was time to call in for reinforcements.

“Big Papa’s Pizza, what can I get for you tonight?” The worker’s bored voice only reminded Amy of how pathetic she really was.

“When do you guys deliver until?” Amy glanced at the menus on the counter.  It was very possible two deliveries would be needed, depending on if she moved to Netflix documentary queue phase two—animals and nature. 

“Two in the morning, Miss,” the employee said, and under his breath, “unfortunately.” 

Amy ignored his lack of enthusiasm.  “One large pepperoni and mushrooms and the biggest bottle of Mountain Dew you have, please.”  She hung up before he said the total—Farrah left her “emergency” credit card, anyways, and no-date prom pizza was an emergency in every way.

While she waited for the pizza to arrive, Amy trudged upstairs and shed her polka-dot pajama pants and ice-cream-stained tank top and took a quick shower, washing away the past few days of melancholy off her skin and hair.  She was fine with not going to prom, she really was.  After the great homecoming coming-out, she had her fill of dramatic high school dances for the year. 

But as she sang off-key to the old Rihanna song on her shower radio and watched the shampoo suds swirl down the drain, all Amy could think of was Lauren up on stage and smiling in her crown, Shane in his teal suit and wingtips trying to hide his enthusiasm for Lauren’s win in the crowd, and Karma dancing starry-eyed with the guitar-playing hippie dude from their algebra class.  By that time, they’d all be doing some sort of after-party, probably at Leila’s, with junk food and iPhone pictures and embarrassing stories they would have to wait until Monday to tell her.

Despite pretending she was past high school, Amy still missed her friends.

She got out of the steamy cocoon of her shower and wrapped her hair up in one of Lauren’s ultra-fluffy pink towels (she’d have to wash it before Lauren got back, they had strict rules about towel sharing).  She snuggled up in her bath-robe and padded barefoot downstairs, right in time for the doorbell to ring.  She unwound the towel from her hair and patted it dry, swinging the stringy blond mass over her shoulder, and grabbed her mom’s card.

“You guys are lifesavers, thanks so much,” Amy said as she opened the door, but snapped her mouth shut when she saw the delivery girl.

“Crazy night, Shrimp Girl?”  Reagan looked perfect as always, even in her blue polyester delivery hat and shirt.  She had a new stud above her eyebrow and the tips of her hair were ice blue instead of purple.

“Reagan,” Amy said, still staring like a goldfish.  “I didn’t know you delivered pizza.  I mean, I didn’t know you worked there.”

“I guess you wouldn’t, since you haven’t called in a few months,” Reagan said, but with no menace.  She pursed her lips, shifting the pizzas from one hand to the other.  “Fifteen sixty-five is your total.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry” Amy said, flushing and taking the pizza and soda.  Her heart skipped a beat when Reagan held out her phone, the card reader attached—her phone with the purple leopard-print case, the one that spent so much time on Amy’s bedside table the semester before.  She groaned.  “And I totally don’t have cash for a tip.”

Reagan smiled, sweet and genuine, showing the adorable slight crook of her teeth.  “Some things never change, huh?”

Amy nodded, still flushed, the pizza warm in her hands.  Reagan gave her a slow once-over and Amy realized she was still wearing her robe, her feet bare on the hallway rug.  “Yeah, I guess so.”  But some things did change—like Amy, deciding she needed space after Liam went away and Karma joined a band, after she and Lauren started getting along.  Deciding to break up with Reagan right after New Year’s Eve.  But Amy knew that space wasn’t what she needed.  She needed to grow a pair.

“It’s prom night for Hester, right?” Reagan pocketed her phone, making no move to leave.  “How come you’re not dancing the night away?”

Amy shrugged.  “Banned.  I punched a cop, remember?”

Reagan laughed.  “Oh, yeah.  I was so proud.”  She peered into the living room where Amy’s den of snack wrappers and blankets remained.  “Room for one more?”

Amy swallowed hard, looking to see if Reagan was teasing, if she’d turn away and laugh about how young Amy was, how immature.  But Reagan wasn’t like that.  “Don’t you have to work?”

Reagan shrugged, smiling mischievously.  She unbuttoned her uniform shirt, revealing a dark purple lace tank top, something she’d wear on a night out.  “I was actually just leaving my shift when I saw that your address was on the route.  Let’s just say I know how to seize an opportunity.”

Amy smiled shyly, still worried despite Reagan’s teasing.  “I’ve done nothing but screw with you.  I’m a mess.”  _You should hate me,_ she wanted to say, but again, she knew Reagan wasn’t like that.  She never was.

Reagan reached out, fingers grazing a strand of Amy’s damp hair.  “You look alright to me.  Let’s watch a movie, Shrimp Girl.  You can tip me in documentaries.”

Amy smiled, stepping aside to let Reagan in.  “That sounds perfect.” 


End file.
